


Bohemian Rhapsody; or, in which Eames is smitten and Arthur is oblivious and everything in between

by IvoryAthena, saltandshore



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-08-03
Updated: 2012-08-22
Packaged: 2017-11-11 09:21:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 16,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/477019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IvoryAthena/pseuds/IvoryAthena, https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltandshore/pseuds/saltandshore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>We hope you liked it - we're chuffed!</p><p> </p><p>The translation is: You do not have bones made of glass, you can take life's knocks.</p>
        </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Arthur is sitting in a warehouse, working on the beginnings of yet another extraction job, when his phone buzzes.  
  
Text: Unknown Number.   
  
_Hello, darling.  
_  
Arthur looks at it for a moment, puzzled. His number is known by very few people, all of whom he keeps in his contacts. He hesitates before responding.  
  
 _Who is this?_

A beat. 

_Are you meaning to tell me there are other men calling you darling?  
_  
The response, while it comes with no name, tells him exactly who it is.  
  
 _Eames_.  
  
Immediately after sending the one word text, Arthur finds himself mildly offended; the Brit knew that he was straight. He quickly adds another message.  
  
 _I do have lady friends, you know.  
_  
His response was almost instantaneous.  
  
 _You wound me, love.  
_  
Good lord, the man was a nightmare. The way he addressed Arthur as though they were lovers in a Shakespearean drama was always so irritating. It drove him mad.  
  
 _Don’t call me that._

His phone is silent for a moment before the screen flashes with another text message.

  
_Making it difficult for me, are you?  
_  
 _Making what difficult for you?  
_

His question is promptly ignored.

_How are you, darling?_

Arthur decides to halt their conversation where it’s at. If Eames doesn’t actually need something from him, then their exchange is pointless. Eames however, appears unfazed.  
  
 _I miss your scowl, kitten.  
_  
Arthur caves and practically slams his fingers onto the touch screen with irritation.  
  
 _What do you want, Eames?  
_  


_Can a man not inquire to your well being?_

_Not when it’s you.  
_  
 _Are you purposely trying to break my heart, darling?  
_  
Arthur’s irritation is really going through the roof at this point.  
  
 _What do you want  
_  
He intentionally leaves the punctuation off the end to show Eames just how disinterested he is in speaking to him. Once again, the man appears unfazed.  
  
 _I heard you were in Paris. Dinner?  
_  
Dinner? What game was he playing at? He shakes the disbelief from his face and taps at the screen once more.  
  
 _With you?  
_

 

A moment of blissful, cellular silence.

  


**BZZZZZZZZ**. Fuck.

  
 _Brilliant deduction, darling. You need to eat sometime—Ariadne tells me Cobb hasn’t taken very good care of you. She referred to you as a “beanpole”.  
_  
Arthur steals an annoyed glance to the small brunette at her desk across the room. Beanpole, his ass.  
  
 _She also tells me that you aren’t doing anything tonight except for working yourself to death. I make a delicious Pad Thai.  
_  
And now he's cooking? Arthur isn't one for conspiracy theories, but he's starting to imagine Eames, the _real_  Eames, was abducted for experiments.  
  
 _I don’t need Cobb to take care of me, I’m a grown man and I can take care of myself.  
_  
Reading over his own text, Arthur realizes just how much it sounded like a child sulking. He adds another bit to draw attention away from that fact.  
  
 _Why don’t you take Ariadne to dinner then  
_   
And now he sounds like a bitter and jealous girlfriend. Great.  
  
 _I don’t want to take Ariadne for dinner. She doesn’t criticize my clothing enough.  
_  
“He’s sending me continuous sad faces via text message, Arthur.” says Ariadne from her desk, just as Arthur finishes responding to Eames.  
  
 _If I’d known that you enjoy having your “style” insulted, I wouldn’t have done it so much._

 

The reply is swift. Arthur tries to stifle the image of Eames quick fingers flying over a keyboard.

  
 _I only enjoy it because it’s you, darling.  
_  
Arthur looks over at her, exasperated and confused. “What does he want?”  
  
She laughs at something on her screen. “He says he just wants to save your virtue from strange men and keep you all for himself."  
  
“I don’t really think my ‘virtue’ is any of his business!” Arthur nearly shouts. “And he knows I’m into women, anyway.”  
  
Ariadne raises an eyebrow. “Right, whatever you say. But, come on... It’s Eames.”  
  
Arthur pauses and turns so he’s facing her directly, his face stone cold. “What, exactly, is that supposed to mean?”  
  
“He’s like, ridiculously good looking and insanely smart. Plus, everyone knows he’s— never mind.” she cuts herself off.  
  
“Then why don’t you make a move on him?” Arthur’s tone is harsher than he intends. Wait, why did he intend for it to be harsh at all? He shakes the thoughts from his head.  
  
“Are you serious, Arthur? Come on. He’s like my big brother and he’s head over—” she huffs, glaring down at her phone screen.  
  
“It would be much appreciated if you stopped cutting off your sentences midway.” Arthur snaps.  
  
“He trusts me, Arthur. If you’re going to wreck him, do it gently, okay?” she stands, face flushed.  
  
Arthur pauses. Wreck Eames?  
  
“I’m confused. What are you talking about?”  
  
“You’re being an idiot, Arthur. He’s a genuinely good man. Just spare him, alright?”  
  
A little something in the back of Arthur’s mind knows exactly what is going on, knows exactly what Ariadne is talking about, and has known for some time. Arthur just refuses to admit it.  
  
“Ariadne. I can’t spare a man from something I know nothing of.”  
  
“Do I need to say it?”  
  
No.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Listen, anyone with eyes can see that he doesn’t look at anyone like he looks at you. He tries to play the casual flirt, but I'll tell you this - he saves every genuine smile for you, not that you ever notice. He likes that you’re not afraid to tell him what you think and that you can actually stand up to him in a fight. He likes that you never try to impress anybody because your work speaks for itself. He’s more loyal to you than you’ve ever noticed. He doesn't _do_  this kind of thing. Ever, despite what people think. All he wants to do is to make you dinner, you jerk.” Her face is red and hands in fists. “You don’t get how lucky you are.”  
  
Arthur leans back into his chair, breathless. “Eames is... Into me?” he asks, with all the eloquence of a five-year-old.  
  
“Only for like the last five years, dumbass.” She rolls her eyes.  
  
“Last five years what?” Comes a roguish, British drawl.  
  
At that moment, Eames strolls into the warehouse. He’s dressed, surprisingly, in dark jeans and a sea foam green t-shirt.  
  
“Pardon my casual dress, but I’ve been renovating my flat all morning," He pauses, furrowing his brow, "Do I have something on me?” He turns himself around, looking for paint. “You’re both giving me bizarre looks.”  
  
Arthur immediately stands up from his chair, for reasons he's not really certain.  
  
“No, er, nothing,” Arthur says, sounding far too panicked. He tries not to notice just how good Eames looks. The t-shirt he chose dips into a deep ‘V’ shape, partially revealing his tattoos and chiseled chest, while the jeans... they were leaving little to the imagination. Arthur forces himself to ignore a sudden change in his blood flow.  
  
“Excited to see me, darling?” Eames asks with a laugh, “Or did my lack of suit just frighten you?”  
  
Eames gives Arthur a non-at-all-subtle wink and Ariadne a big, swing-you-around bear hug.  
  
“How are you, petal?”  
  
“I’m good, it’s good to see you! I figured London would be your home base, not Paris!” She laughs.  
  
“Mombasa has been home for a few years, but I’ve just acquired a beautiful old flat. Crown moldings, white washed walls, you know. It’s taken some work, but I must admit, I’m smitten with it.” He smiles, taking a drink of the tea he's carrying with him.   
  
“I’ve also acquired some new tattoos, since I’ve found a nice shop here in Paris.” He lifts his shirt, and along his hips and across the base of his stomach it reads ' _Vous n'avez pas des os en verre, vous pouvez vous cognez la vie'_ .  
  
Arthur isn’t really paying attention to Eames’ words at this point. For some reason, he finds his eyes tracing along the perfect slope of the man’s obliques, pointing right down to his...  
  
“Do you like it, darling?”  
  
“Sorry, what?” Arthur asks, as he is snapped back to reality.  
  
Eames’ eyebrows raise with a smile on his lips and he laughs, loudly and honestly.  
  
Eames wraps an arm around Ariadne's shoulders. “Why don’t I take you two out for lunch, hm? You’ve been cooped up in here for ages.”  
  
“Uh, well...” Arthur is almost entirely incapable of speech at the moment. There is simply too much new information occupying his mind for him to be able to do much else. He looks pleadingly to Ariadne for assistance.  
  
“We would love that,” she says, gathering her coat. “It sounds awesome. I know a great cafe around the corner and then maybe you could show us the work you’ve done on your apartment?”  
  
Eames smiles.  
  
“Of course, it’s a bit of a mess, but if you like!” He brushes against Arthur’s shoulder and hands him his jacket. “Cat got your tongue, kitten?”  
  
If Arthur’s brain could do nothing else, it would never back down from the opportunity to cleverly retort one of Eames’ quips.  
  
“Shove off, you over-glorified doodle pad.”  
  
Eames laughs as they walk out the door.  
  
“There’s my little firecracker! I was wondering where he wandered off to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We hope you liked it - we're chuffed!
> 
>  
> 
> The translation is: You do not have bones made of glass, you can take life's knocks.


	2. Chapter 2

“I mean, can you _believe_ he’s done all that work on his apartment by himself? I absolutely love it - it suits him so well! I want a place like that someday...” Ariadne gushes as she settles at her desk the next morning. “Do you think you’ll go for Easter dinner? He invited all of us, even Cobb.”  
  
“Yeah, I didn’t exactly take him for the interior design type,” says Arthur, not looking up from his work. “I guess there’s a lot of things I didn’t know about him.”  
  
“He always told me he really liked art, but I always figured street art and stuff, not Modigliani and Dali. Did you hear him say he’s going to keep a whole room just for painting?” She leans back in her chair, absently tossing a pencil in Arthur’s direction.  
  
Arthur chuckles slightly, dodging it.  
  
“Yeah, I heard. Never took Eames for that kind of sensitive guy. Where did he keep that side hidden all these years?”  
  
“Somewhere deep, deep, deep inside, darling,” comes the roguish drawl. Eames strolls up to their desks and deposits the coffees he was juggling.  
  
“I’m sorry, did I startle you? Cobb wanted a hand with a couple little surveillance tasks.”  
  
“Eames!” Arthur practically shouts, before clamping a hand over his mouth. “I, er, no. Not surprised. Um... Surveillance, you said?”  
  
Eames chuckles, ruffling a hand in Ariadne’s hair as he smiles at Arthur.  
  
“Yeah, he realized his heavy handed techniques might not be best for this particular job. I’m doing nothing but painting so I might as well. Will you both be joining me for dinner Saturday?”  
  
Ariadne jumps in before Arthur can say anything.  
  
“I can’t make it Saturday, I’ve got this, uh, thing. But Arthur was just telling me how he was looking for something to distract him from all of the work on this job, so I’m sure he’d be down!"  
  
Arthur shoots a wide-eyed look in her direction, while Eames smiles a genuine, dimpling smile.  
  
“Well, it’s too bad you can’t make it, petal. I’m sure Arthur will occupy himself readily picking apart my attire for the evening. Yusuf might drop by with his sweetheart. In any case, I’ll have you know I’m an excellent cook.”  
  
He leans against the desk, arms crossed over his chest.  
  
“Do you like dogs, darling?”  
  
“I’m kind of more of a cat person, really...” Arthur manages to sputter out nervously. He is definitely going to tear Ariadne a new one for throwing him under the bus.  
  
“Well, then perhaps you can skip out on the Easter afternoon walk along the Seine with Barkley and I, although I’m sure he’d take to you splendidly,” he says with a smile. Arthur returns a simple half-hearted grin, and Eames continues.  
  
“He’s a big, beautiful Newfoundland. I’m moving him here this weekend, he’s been staying with some mates in Sweden. Miss him terribly.” He brings out his phone and shows them both a picture.

 

[Barkley](http://farm3.staticflickr.com/2416/2404755165_28df2c2136_z.jpg)

 

“Now don’t tell me you don’t just want to cuddle up with that, hey, Arthur?” Ariadne asks. She elbows him in the ribs, earning her another ‘I’m so going to kill you later’ look.  
  
“He’s a huge teddy, but he’s scared of thunder. He loves everyone, even button-up, stick in the mud Arthur.” He gives him a cheeky smile.  
  
While Ariadne is busy cooing over pictures of Barkley, Eames looks to Arthur.  
  
“I’m sure he’d be chuffed if you came, I’ve told him an awful lot about you,” he says quietly.  
  
The two men hold one another’s gaze for a moment. Eames’ eyes are filled with intent and determination, while Arthur’s are searching, confused.  
  
“I...” he starts, before realizing he doesn’t have any idea how to respond.  
  
Eames’ smile falters just a little, not noticeable to anyone but Arthur’s trained eyes.  
  
“Only if you like, darling. I won’t hold you to it.”  
  
He turns and regales Ariadne with Barkley’s puppy stories until she’s crying with laughter.  
  
Arthur leaves the two to their puppy-induced giggles and goes back to sitting at his desk, looking over to his colleagues, - or, he supposed he could call them friends; they’d been together long enough - he feels a slight pit inside his chest, like he’s done something wrong. The feeling increases when Eames steals a glance over to Arthur’s desk. He looks... sad? No, that couldn’t be it. The man was one of the toughest people knew. He didn’t get choked up about anything.

He looked tired.  
  
An hour goes by, and they all slowly quiet into their work. Cobb comes and goes, assigning tasks and going about his own work. At hour three, around one thirty in the warm but overcast Parisian afternoon, Eames stands and stretches his arms above his head, exposing a strip of tattooed skin. “I’m about to keel over from lack of caffeine. Can I grab you two workaholics anything while I’m gallivanting around the block?”  
  
Arthur keeps his eyes glued to the paper he’d been reading and rereading all morning. Why did their subject have to be so bloody complex? It was one thing for a man to have lived in a few different homes, but it was as though this one had lived almost ten entirely different lives, all polar opposites of one another. It certainly was going to make manipulating his mind infinitesimally more difficult.  
  
“Coffee’d be great,” he absentmindedly mutters without direction.  
  
Eames chuckles behind him warmly, “You’re swaying in your seat, darling. An espresso, perhaps? Or one of those horribly sugary coffee drinks?”  
  
Arthur, previously zoned out, jumps in his seat at the sudden proximity of Eames’ voice.  
  
“Well, darling?” the Brit asks again.  
  
“Oh, um,” Arthur says, rubbing his own face in an overtired fashion. “Maybe grab me a caramel macchiato?”  
  
“Any chance I could convince you to eat something with your caffeine sugar sauce?” he asks, leaning over Arthur’s shoulder, flipping a page.  
  
Arthur can feel Eames’ breath on his neck, and a sudden rise of unexpected heat makes his tie feel just the slightest bit tighter. He clears his throat and turns the document back to the page he was reading.  
  
“I’m fine,” he says, coldly, trying to sober his mind up from the intoxication of Eames’ closeness. Why did he have to be so bloody close? Furthermore, why was Arthur suddenly wanting to lean closer and smell more of the man’s musky cologne? He shook off the feeling and forced himself to shift away in his chair. “Now stop distracting me.”  
  
“Mm, just glad you’ve finally noticed I’m trying darling. Be right back.” For a moment, Eames gets an infinity closer as if he was about to press a chaste kiss to Arthur’s temple, but his heat and scent are gone as fast as they came.  
  
Ariadne is sitting on his desk the instant Eames walks out the door. She raises an eyebrow at him.  
  
“He wants to walk his _dog _ with you, Arthur. Come onnnnn.”  
  
“Come on, what? I don’t know what you two want from me!” Arthur spits, throwing his papers onto his desk.  
  
Ariadne sits forward.  
  
“The only thing either of us want from you is to give yourself a chance to be happy. Can you honestly tell me you’ve never thought of Eames that way?”  
  
No. Arthur couldn’t deny that, not to himself at least. After once waking up, covered in sweat and the man’s name a whisper on his lips, Arthur forced any idea of that out of his mind. He liked women. He liked the way their bodies were soft and delicate, the way they smelled sweetly of fruit and flowers and vanilla, and the way their hair was always just waiting to be romantically swept out of their eyes. But then there was Eames... Eames, with his poor fashion sense and his rock-solid physique and the way his eyes lit up when he made Arthur laugh and - Arthur cut off his train of thought right there. Maybe once, in the depths of his subconscious, had something been there, but not now. Not ever again.  
  
“No,” Arthur lied. “I haven’t. And who’s to say I’m not happy?”  
  
Ariadne sighs. “I know you’re lying. You know you’re lying. He’s not going to wait forever, no matter how much he wants to. He’s tired. He’s got a heart as big as the ocean, but he’s getting tired of being pushed away. Sometimes I just wish he would move on and find someone that wants to make him happy, too.”  
  
She pushes off the desk and walks toward the small kitchen in the warehouse, but before she reaches its, she turns on her heel and stalks back toward Arthur.  
  
“Before I give up, I need to show you one thing. My absolute favorite picture of Eames from when him and I spend the day in the archives of the Louvre. He knew I wanted to go so badly, so he snuck me in.”  
  
Her normally cheery eyes are a little shiny as she grabs her laptop and opens a photo file.  
  
“Just look at me and tell me that smile wouldn’t break your heart if you ever did anything to destroy it.”

  
[LouvreEames.img  
](http://images4.fanpop.com/image/photos/18900000/Just-Tom-tom-hardy-18950280-500-669.jpg)  
Arthur looks at the photo.  
  
“I adore you, Arthur, you know that. I just want you to let yourself be spoiled and relaxed and happy,” she says, sighing.  
  
“Ariadne, look, I don’t -”  
  
“Arthur, just shut up, please? I’m going to head out for some fresh air to cool down, and I really want you to think about this. Just... Consider all the facts before you say no.”  
  
With that, she walks out the door of the warehouse, shoulders hanging in disappointment.  
  
Arthur slumps back into his chair, but finds it to be far less comfortable than it had been only moments earlier. He links his hands together behind his neck, pulling his head down to a thud on the myriad of papers that made up his workspace.  
  
“Eames,” he mutters to himself. “Christ...”  
  
His mind is spinning. So much information, so many confused emotions, so much worry, and all of it just screaming, _Eames, Eames, Eames_. He stands up abruptly from the desk and paces the warehouse, his hands restless: running through hair, strumming against his leg, anything to try and distract him from the constant stream of _Eames_. It’s not enough. With a frustrated shout of profanity, Arthur impulsively swings at the pencil holder on his desk, sending it shattering to the floor and writing utensils flying everywhere. Hands balled up in fists, he stands perfectly still, trying to slow his breathing, when he hears the door open behind him.


	3. Chapter 3

“Jesus, are you alright?”  
  
Eames sets the coffee precariously on a stack of boxes as he rushes over to Arthur.  
  
“Did something happen?”  
  
He sets a cautious hand on Arthur’s shoulder, moving slightly closer. Before he can register what happened, Arthur swings around and lands a swift, hard punch to Eames’ jaw. Eames reels back, clutching his face. His eyes are wide and shocked, filled with anger and a sliver of hurt. His free hand is balled in a fist next to him. He takes a deep breath and squares his shoulders.

There is a moment of breathless silence.  
  
Eames inhales and exhales sharply through his nose, trying to quell the obvious urge of punching Arthur back. “Arthur, I don’t know what the fuck I did to deserve so much hate from you, but I’m done. I'm so fucking done. Sort yourself out.”  
  
With that, Eames turns around and stalks out, brushing past Ariadne.  
  
Fuck. Arthur shouldn’t have done that, and he knows it. He isn’t even sure why he did it, not that he has a lot of time to to think about it when a whirlwind of anger wrapped up in a small brunette package is racing toward him.  
  
“What the _fuck_ did you just do?” Ariadne shouts, a small, open hand slamming into his chest.  
  
"Seriously, why? Arthur?!”  
  
Arthur feels his eyes glaze over and, for once, responds to her honestly.  
  
“Ariadne, I’m sorry. I - I don’t know.”  
  
She takes a deep breath.  
  
“Why won’t you just let yourself be the person, that wonderful person, I know you are. That person Eames sees - saw - in you, who he fell for. Arthur,” she says, and with a defeated sigh pulls him into her little arms. “Just stop, please. Just stop.”  
  
He gives her a slight squeeze back, trying to comfort her, but his attempts are futile.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Arthur repeats, not knowing what else to say.  
  
“I just...” she pauses, stepping back from their embrace, “need to work alone for a while. Keep to myself.”  
  
She walks around him and sits down at her desk, just staring at the work in front of her, defeated. Arthur follows suit. The two just end up sitting in silence, not doing anything but feeling the obvious tensions and misery in the air. In a spur of the moment plan, Arthur pulls out his phone and sends a one-word text.  
  
 _Eames._  
  
He doesn’t know what he’s expecting. Eames has no reason to answer him. After all, Arthur did just punch him in the face after he invited him out for a walk with his dog, offered to make him dinner, and brought him an overpriced coffee.  
  
Instead of the buzz of his phone, Arthur hears the door open. He turns, and sees Eames standing in the doorway, fresh purple bruise on his jaw, and soaking wet.  
  
“It’s raining,” he says, voice gravelly.  
  
His eyes are red rimmed, and Arthur is going to pretend not to notice that Eames’ knuckles are scuffed from punching a wall instead of Arthur.  
  
“Petal, would you find me a bag of peas for my face?” His voice is quiet, lacking its usual lilting laughter. Ariadne takes her cue, and giving them both a look, leaves.  
  
“Can I come in, or should I just go and you can forget you ever met me?”  
  
“Eames,” Arthur says quietly, walking towards him. “I’m sorry I punched you. It was completely uncalled for. I was just tense and frustrated and -”  
  
“You honestly think this is just because you punched me in the face?” Eames asks, raising his eye from the floor, incredulous.  
  
No. Arthur sighs, and stops, leaving two paces between them. He looks up at Eames, and he is different than Arthur has ever seen. His stature is weak, his smile is gone, the light and joy in his eyes is non-existent. The man who stands in front of him is not Eames, but a shadow of him. An empty shell.  
  
“I don’t know,” Arthur lies, once again.  
  
Eames shrugs his shoulders, clenching and unclenching his hands, water dripping into his eyes and on his face. It's as if he has a weight strapped to his chest.  
  
“I give up, Arthur,” he says, his voice wrecked.  
  
“I went in one hundred percent. You have everything from me, so...” he releases a shuddering breath. “So there you have it. I can’t, I’m sorry.” He rubs a hand across his watering eyes and stifles a small, rough sob. He turns and opens the door to leave.  
  
There is something about seeing a man so entirely broken that breaks something inside of Arthur, as well. He strides over Eames and rests a hand on his shoulder before he can make it out the door.  
  
“Eames, please. Don’t go.”  
  
Before Eames can even turn entirely around, Arthur acts without thinking and pulls Eames’ head down, crashing their mouths together.  
  
He can feel, more than hear Eames gasp and stutter of breath. He returns the kiss only for a moment before pushing Arthur away, the look on his face so pained it makes Arthur’s chest tighten painfully.  
  
“Please, I can’t take anymore,” he says, breathless and voice cracking.  
  
“Don’t do this if you’re only going to push me away again. I can’t - love, I can’t.”  
  
Arthur, despite his entire mind and body telling him not to, steps back.  
  
“I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me,” he pants out. His eyes are red and burning when he finally looks up at Eames.  
  
“What do you want from me?” Eames chokes out. He reaches out as if to touch, but lets his arm drop. “Arthur.”  
  
“I don’t kn -” Arthur starts, but stops himself, because he was about to lie to the man again, for the umpteenth time. He knew exactly what he wanted; he was just scared to admit it. Scared of letting himself go, letting himself truly just be free, of letting himself feel exactly what he wanted to feel, scared to be vulnerable around another. Scared that it would fail, and that he would end up broken and irreparable.  
  
Like he had done to Eames.  
  
Eames sighs and sinks to the floor, head hanging heavy.  
  
“Maybe it’s best if I just go for a few months. Best for both of us.”  
  
Arthur wants more than anything to kneel down in front of Eames, take his face in his hands, wipe away his tears, and tell him not to go. To tell Eames that he needs him there if he’s ever to figure out what these feelings are doing to him. If he’s ever to be ready to take the leap of faith.  
  
But, Arthur is Arthur, and Arthur doesn’t do that kind of thing. Instead, he blinks back threatening tears and replies with a heavy heart.  
  
“That’d probably be best.”  
  
Eames sets his jaw as more heavy tears fall from his eyes. He lets out a bark of bitter laughter as he stands, dusts off his jeans and roughly wiping his face. He turns, giving Arthur one more glance.  
  
“Goodbye, Arthur.”  
  
He walks out the door, and Arthur can hear the muted conversation of Eames saying goodbye to Ariadne on the other side.  
  
“Goodbye, Eames.”  
  
\--  
  
Ariadne slowly opens the door a few minutes later, face red and eyes still shining with tears.  
  
“He’s going to some west coast town in Canada. He’s taking Barkley with him. I love you Arthur, but I hate you. I’m going home.”  
  
She tosses something to Arthur and sniffles, grabbing her things and leaving. Arthur looks at his hand and realizes he’s holding the keys to Eames’ Paris flat.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Jasper is Tom Hiddleston.)

**SIX MONTHS LATER**

  
The tension in the hotel suite is palpable. The team has been trying to gather the right information for almost a month now, but to no avail. Cobb has been wearing the carpet bald from pacing, Arthur bent over the files, and Ariadne doodling moodily in her notebook.  
  
Cobb sighs and grabs his jacket.  
  
“Where are you going?” Arthur asks, setting down his dossier.  
  
Cobb looks up from gathering his things. “I’m going to find Eames.”  
  
Arthur grabs his arm as he goes to walk past him. “Cobb. He said he needed space. Just leave him be.”  
  
“You know I can’t do that, Arthur. No one can do what he can. We need him.”  
  
He pulls his arm out of Arthur’s grip and heads out the door, pausing just before closing it. “Just promise me you won’t fuck things up this time. I can’t afford to have him storm off again.”  
  
Cobb gives Arthur his best ‘I’m basically your big brother, so listen’ look. “One way or another, we need him back here. I’m going, or you’re going. Make your decision.”  
  
Arthur sighs and drops his gaze to the floor. “If you really need to get him back, it should be me to do it. I’m the reason he left in the first place, so it’s my burden to bear.”  
  
Cobb sighs. “Listen, I don’t know what happened, but you’ve been miserable for the last six months. Sometimes, no matter how scary things are - the risk is worth the reward, okay?”  
  
Arthur’s muscles tense and his entire body goes into defense mode. He does not want to talk about this.  
  
“Cobb, I don’t know what you all seem to think is, or rather, was going on between the two of us, but you and everyone else on the team just need to stop,” he says, begrudgingly shoving his arms into his jacket. “Nothing happened. We just got into a fight and he left. Simple as that. Now I’m going to go and get him because you need your precious _forger_.” He practically spits the last word.  
  
Cobb gives Arthur a long look and shakes his head. “Do what you want, Arthur. He’s on Vancouver Island, on the west coast of Canada. Bring a rain jacket. The town is called Tofino.”  
  
Arthur shoves past him and leaves the hotel suite the team had gathered in.  
  
“And Arthur,” Cobb adds, “Bring him back in one piece.”  
  
Arthur gives one, barely noticeable nod and shuts the door.  
  
\--  
  
Eames rolls over in his bed to his phone buzzing on the bedside table. Beautiful, grey west coast light is filtering through his shades and Barkley gruffs sleepily at the end of the bed. He grapples for his phone and answers it roughly. “Hello?”  
  
“Good morning, you lazy arse!” comes a now familiar voice.  
  
Eames chuckles. “Jasper, why so early,” he moans. “Every time.”  
  
“It’s already 10:30, you clot. Get up! Surfing, then a walk along Long Beach. I’ll be there in 20.” And with that, he hangs up.  
  
Eames met Jasper a week after he moved to Tofino. They became fast friends, eventually making weekly habits of surfing at Long Beach, decked out in wet suits to lock out the bitter cold of the northwest pacific ocean. He’s fallen in love with the northwest coast - the deep green of the rainforest, the crashing waves. He loves taking Barkley there to play in the waves every day. He loves it here. He does.  
  
But not a day goes by that he doesn’t wish he saw Arthur, damp and smiling at him, on the beach, too.  
  
\--  
  
The flight to Tofino was long. Not to mention, it gave Arthur far too much alone time with his thoughts.  
  
He had been trying to figure out what he would say to Eames when he showed up; would he address what happened the last time they’d seen each other and have them talk out all of their issues? Or would he be all business, addressing the forger strictly as a colleague?  
  
Adjusting for what felt like the hundredth time in his uncomfortable airline seat, he unwillingly retraces the fateful day when Eames had stormed out. His mind repeats the scene over and over, like a scratched DVD: Eames’ tears, his pleading and broken voice, and... the kiss. Arthur could not deny the fire between them at that moment. He tries to avoid thinking about it, but he simply cannot forget how Eames’ lips felt against his; how, for a brief moment, they both let all their boundaries go. He grabs the in-flight menu and reads off all the disgusting sounding coach food to distract himself.  
  
\--  
  
By the time Arthur lands, it’s 11:30AM local time. He leaves the small airport with a cup of coffee and heads to Eames’ address. Nerves crashing in his stomach, he walks up the simple steps to Eames’ small but comfortable beach house, which sits right along the shoreline, rocks and sand filling the cracks in the wood on his porch. The wind whips past Arthur’s ears, his pea coat collar turned up against the wet wind. The crashing waves seem to do nothing but echo _Eames_. He knocks on the door. There’s nothing but silence, but Arthur notices the two sets of footprints and paw prints leading down the beach to the three silhouettes walking.  
  
Arthur suddenly feels a flare of something in his chest, though he passes it off as a side-effect of the bad airplane food. And his hand that’s suddenly balled into a fist at his side, that’s probably from the airplane food, too.  
  
As he approaches, he can see that Eames is wearing a windbreaker, jeans, and a wool-gray toque. It’s an overcast day, the clouds misting overhead. He can hear Barkley barking happily for Eames to throw the stick into the water again and the quiet conversation between Eames and whoever is next to him. It’s a man - Arthur can tell. The man casually drapes an arm around Eames’ shoulders and laughs loudly at something he says.  
  
If Arthur could ever admit it to himself, he would swear his heart broke at that moment.  
  
So close, he’d been. So close to going up to Eames and telling him everything that he’d suppressed for all their years working together. But his plan had changed the instant he saw him with another man. Because, despite everything, Eames looked happy. And Arthur wasn’t about take that away from him.  
  
He straightens his back and puts on his business face as he walks up behind the two.  
  
“Hello, Eames.”  
  
Eames turns so fast, Arthur thinks he might’ve given himself whiplash. Barkley comes galloping over to Eames with a stick in his mouth, soaking wet, but all Eames can do is stare, absent dropping his hand to Barkley’s head. He stares, silent, stares at the face he’s dreamed of every night for the last five years.  
  
“Arthur,” Eames breathes. “What -” he huffs out a shocked breath.  
  
Arthur trains his face in the best stoic expression he knows. “Who’s this?” he asks, gesturing to the man.  
  
It takes Eames a moment to gather himself. “Oh, uh, yeah. Jasper, this is Arthur,” he says. Jasper is tall, lean, with curly sandy-brown hair, big blue eyes and a huge smile. Everything Arthur isn’t.  
  
“So this is the heart breaker,” Jasper says, not offering his hand, looking a little too protective of Eames for Arthur’s liking.  
  
“Jas, come on,” Eames says quietly. “Take Barkley for a second. I’ll be right back. Come on, Arthur.”  
  
As they walk down the beach to distance themselves from Jasper and Barkley, Eames stops like the breath has been knocked from him. “What are you doing here?” he asks, voice crashing like waves.  
  
“What are you doing with that man, Eames?” Arthur counters, before he can stop himself. The way he had looked at Arthur, almost with a feeling of jealousy, seemed to counter his all-business plan. “How long have you known him? Do you even know anything about him? He could be dangerous. He could hurt you.”  
  
He catches himself at that last sentence, remembering why Eames was here in the first place. Arthur does his best to regain his composure and reset his poker face.  
  
Eames looks startled at Arthur’s outburst. His countenance quickly turns angry. “Why do you care?” He says, biting the words as they come out of his mouth.  “Are you here just to remind you that I can’t fucking forget your face, or your voice, or your stupid fucking everything?” His voice catches and he pinches the ridge of his nose and tries to catch a breath. “I left you alone, I tried to let you go. You can’t just come back and - and I don’t know.” Eames voice has risen, breaking over the last words.  
  
Jasper is striding over to them, concern written on his features. “Jesus Christ, E!” He calls, quickly closing in on them. “Let’s go, alright? Come on.”  
  
Jasper goes to lead Eames away, but Arthur presses a hand to the lean man’s chest. “It’s not your issue, _Jas_ ,” he hisses. “I’m just here to talk to him about a business endeavour. No need for anyone to get all worked up about anything.”  
  
As Jasper shoves Arthur’s hand away roughly, Arthur’s face hardens, his mouth folding into nothing but a fine line.  
  
“You don’t get to come back here, Arthur,” he spits, “and tear him up again. I don’t know who the hell you think you are, but I’m not going to stand here and let you come back and fuck things up for him.”  
  
For a moment, the two men simply stare down one another, fire raging in both of them. Barkley’s howl breaks the silence, revealing to Arthur and Jasper that Eames has begun his way back up to the house.  
  
“You’re a fucking idiot,” spits Jasper. He underestimates Arthur, like most.  
  
Just as Jasper and Arthur start shoving each other, Eames sprints back, having heard the commotion. He grabs Arthur around the waist and tears him backward, landing him ungraciously on the sand. “Fucking _enough_! Both of you! I’m not some fucking damsel in distress!” He turns to Arthur, glaring. “You, you _asshole_ , go back to my house and wait for me there. And you,” he turns to Jasper. “Don’t be so reckless. He could fucking kill you. We are going to finish Barkley’s fucking walk.” He turns, picking up Barkley’s stick and launching it forcefully into the water as he strides away.  
  
Jasper just shakes his head as he turns and walks away. “You don’t deserve him,” he says.  
  
Arthur shoots a glare at him, only this time it’s not the light-hearted playful one he often gave to Ariadne. He actually wanted to kill the son of a bitch. Whispering profanities under his breath, he sulks his way up to the house where he can do nothing but sit and wait for Eames to return, hopefully sans Jasper. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you're liking it! As two proud Canadians, we figured that Vancouver Island (home of saltandshore) would be a great place for Eames to go.


	5. Chapter 5

An hour later, Eames returns with a happy Barkley. The behemoth of a dog gallumphs up to Arthur and snuffles his face and eventually plops down at his feet. Eames begins to peel his layers off, not looking at Arthur. He finally, after putting the kettle on the stove, leans against the counter and spreads his arms as if to say ‘explain. now.’   
  
Arthur stands up from the chair he’d been sitting completely still in for the past 63 minutes, not that he’d been counting or anything. He walks over to the kitchen area and as he gets closer, Eames flinches in the most minute way possible. But Arthur still notices. He matches the man’s position and leans against the counter that sits 90 degrees to him.   
  
He takes a deep breath before beginning. “Eames, I’m sorry that I interrupted your new life with Jasper, but I had to come.”  
  
Eames looks up from the ground, eyes raw with disbelief. “New life with Jasper?” He seems to be shocked silent for a moment. “Do you honestly think I could just start a new life, like I could move on from you? People don’t just  _move on_ from someone like you, Arthur. He’s just a friend, that’s all,” he sighs.  
  
Arthur doesn’t even realize that he’s shifted closer to Eames as a sense of relief floods through him. “Oh,” he says, more happily than he should. Realizing this lapse of control, his rational mind suddenly takes back over, reminding him of why he got on the plane to Tofino in the first place. “Well, um, right. The reason I’m here is because Cobb - I mean, we - need you for a job.”  
  
Eames, shockingly, chuckles. “Cobb could have come and gotten me, darling. Or Ariadne. Or anyone else on the team, for that matter. No, there has to be some other reason why it was  _you_ who came to me.”  
  
He has shifted closer to Arthur, actually stepping away from the counter. He’s well within Arthur’s personal space, they are breathing in the same air.  
  
His hands slowly, gently touch Arthur’s hips. “Tell me I’m wrong, Arthur. Tell me this isn’t what you want, love,” he says quietly. “I can’t do this anymore. Either tell me to go forever, cut me loose, or let me in.” His eyes lock with Arthur’s. “But I’ll tell you this right now. If you let me in, I won’t ever let you go. You’re too important to me.” His voice is deeper than Arthur has ever heard it.  
  
Arthur’s eyes flash with panic at the feel of Eames’ rough, yet soft hands on his hips, at the tone of his voice, and, most significantly, at the words he is hearing. He can smell the man’s cologne, something he wasn’t even aware that he’d missed for four months, and it soothes him. It reminds him of everything  _Eames_ , of everything he cared so much about in the man.  
  
Eames, noting Arthur’s hesitation, moves to take a step back. “Alright, I understand,” he says, his voice forcefully calm.  
  
Arthur grabs him before he can create too much distance between them, putting his hands to the sides of the other man’s neck. He thumbs the soft spot just below his earlobes and looks into Eames’ eyes - his warm, beautiful blue eyes - and wonders how he could ever have found the ability within himself to do anything to have hurt him.  
  
“Eames, I... Okay,” he says, a light smile coming to his lips.   
  
It’s like the world stops, grinding to a furious halt as Eames’ breath catches in his throat.  
  
Eames’ eyes frantically search Arthur’s face. “You’re sure? I mean it, darling. I won’t ever let you go. I don’t do things halfway.” Their faces are so close, Arthur can feel the warmth of Eames’ lips on his own without them touching. “You need to be sure. It would kill me more to have you against your wishes. I want you as you are; fierce, powerful, intelligent, Arthur. Nothing more, nothing less. That’s who I -” his voice is suddenly rough. “That’s who I fell in love with.”  
  
And, at this point, Arthur’s never been more sure of anything in his life. He breaks down all the walls he’d built over the years, and just lets himself feel everything for this perfect imperfect human being in his arms. He pulls Eames down so that their foreheads are touching, and whispers one word.  
  
“Yes.”   
  
A smile that could have lit up London fills Eames’ face, and he pulls Arthur in for a sweet, long kiss. When they pull apart, Eames laughs softly as he presses their foreheads together again.

  
  
Barkley snuffles happily from the doorway.


	6. Chapter 6

Arthur lifts his face up to touch their lips together again, and though it starts out light and sweet, it slowly turns into something more. He links his hands behind Eames’ neck and deepens the kiss, teasing him with light nibbles on his plump lower lip, earning him a deep groan from the other man. Heat rises between the two of them, and just as Arthur brings his hips up, desperate for contact, Eames pulls away. 

“Darling, darling,” he says breathlessly. “Wait. I just -” He suddenly pulls Arthur close in a fierce hug, clutching the leaner man to him, taking a deep breath. “Let me make you dinner, okay?”

Arthur huffs out a frustrated breath and nuzzles into Eames’ shoulder. They stand there for a few moments of silence, just holding one another and inhaling the intoxicating scent of their two colognes mixed together.

“Alright,” he mumbles, his voice muffled in Eames’ shirt.

Eames smiles, pressing a kiss to Arthur’s temple. “Believe me, pet. It’s not that I don’t want to.” He releases Arthur from his arms and kneels down, calling Barkley over.

Arthur is surprised by the warmth that floods his chest as he watches Eames coo and pull Barkley close, ruffling his heavy fur. Eames looks up at Arthur from his spot on the floor. “I think it’s time you two become properly acquainted. Arthur, may I present you with Sir Barkley, dog of the Highest degree. Barkley, this is Arthur.” A slow smile floods Eames’ face, with a hint of mischief. “Barkley, give kisses!” He says, laughing as Barkley gallops to Arthur, placing his huge paws on Arthur’s shoulders and snuffling and licking all the parts of Arthur’s being he can reach.

Arthur is not prepared for the sudden wall of fur supporting itself on him. He tries to tilt his head back to avoid the slobbery love of Barkley, but succumbs to the black mane in front of him and begins to stroke his fur. This, turns out, just earns him even more puppy kisses. _'_ _Well, at least someone in this house seems to want his tongue all over me_ ', Arthur thinks to himself, giggling at the ridiculous sentiment. 

“Oh, uh,” he grunts, trying to avoid getting dog tongue in his mouth, “nice to meet you, Barkley.”

Eames laughter is loud and honest, filling the house. “Barkley, off. Come here,” he laughs. “Leave poor Arthur alone now, you great brute.” Barkley lays down on the kitchen floor as Eames rummages around in his fridge. “What would you like for dinner, darling?” he asks, head in the fridge.

‘ _You’_ , Arthur just about lets slip out. He giggles to himself again and rubs his fingers over his brow, surprised at just how open and welcoming, and well, _sexual_ his mind was once he took down his shields.

“Something funny, love?” Eames asks, standing up straight.

He quirks his eyebrow and grins at Arthur as he pulls vegetables and some chicken from the fridge. “Curry alright?” he asks, walking over to Arthur, gently rubbing a thumb over his jaw.

Eames doesn’t break eye contact as he deliberately reaches around Arthur to pull a cutting board off the rack behind him, forcing him to lean back against the counter. He leaves a barely there, teasing kiss on Arthur’s lips, rendering him speechless. “I’m just going to assume that’s a yes,” he says, turning around and walking back to his array of ingredients. 

Arthur shoots a death glare to Eames’ back and responds, a little too late. “Um, yeah,” his voice cracks slightly. “Curry sounds great.” 

Eames chuckles low in his chest. “Are you going to help, or just stand there and distract me?” he says, voice deep. “There’s wine in the cupboard, kitten.”

Arthur decides on some quick payback and approaches Eames’ turned back. He breathes softly on the nape of his neck and playfully bites at his ear. “Sorry,” he says, gently caressing Eames’ arms. “Which cupboard?”

Eames’ hands are still on the cutting board, trying to concentrate. “The far left,” he says, voice quiet and deep. HIs hand comes up to rest on Arthur’s on his arm. “I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of this.”

The lack of teasing tone suddenly reminds Arthur of how serious Eames is about all of this, and how real it actually is. He said that he _loves_ him, that he isn’t ever going to let him go. Arthur just isn’t sure he is ready to say it back.

He nods and pulls his hand out from under Eames’, going to grab the wine out of the cupboard.

As if Eames can sense Arthur’s sudden worry, he turns and gently grabs Arthur’s wrist. “I don’t expect you to say it. Or feel it yet, even. I have no expectations of you, Arthur. Please remember that, alright?” he smiles lightly and turns back to the cutting board.

Arthur sighs a breath of relief. He knew that Eames didn’t expect anything drastic from him, but it was still a weight off his back to hear him say it, just the same. “Okay,” Arthur says, warmly. “Do you need my help with anything else for dinner?”

Eames hums thoughtfully while stirring the coconut milk into the curry. “You can set the table. It’s just through that door there and the plates are right behind me,” he says.

Arthur smiles, comforted at how bloody domestic the whole thing is. How was it that they’d been ready to kill one another just hours earlier? “Will do,” he says, letting his fingertips to graze across Eames’ shoulders as he goes to grab the dishes. The solidness of his muscles reminds Arthur about his craving to run his hands everywhere else on the man, which Eames had so abruptly shut down earlier. 

As Arthur sets the table, he can hear Eames humming - no, singing - in the kitchen. Singing to Barkley.

Eames was singing to the dog.

“Barkley I love you, Barkley I doooo, when we’re apart my heart beats only for youuuu!” As Eames goes into another round of song, Barkley begins to howl and bark along, creating some bizarre duo. 

As the song comes down from its... Melodious peak, Eames calls to Arthur that dinner is ready.

Arthur can smell the delectable scent of curry filling the house. “You know,” he says teasingly as he walks into the kitchen, “you should really get into the music business. Your voice is just - mm.” He dips his knees slightly on that accent. “Brilliant.” 

“You’re hilarious, love, really,” Eames says, turning around with a curry-covered spoon. “Now come here and make sure this is done to your liking.”

Arthur can see Eames’ pupils dilate as he leans forward and tastes the curry. “It’s delicious,” he says.

“Of course it is, darling. I made it,” Eames says, piling food onto Arthur’s plate. “Come, let us dine!”

“You’re ridiculous, Eames,” Arthur laughs as the Brit presses lightly on his back, moving him into the dining room. Arthur had set their glasses and silverware so that Eames had the head of the table, while he sat on his left. 

They place their plates on the table, and before Eames even has a chance to sit down, Arthur grabs his shoulder and whips him around, pressing the two of them against the head chair.

“My, my, quite handsy aren’t we, darling? And before dinner, no less. What’s on your mind?” Eames asks, one hand on Arthur’s hip and the other balancing on the table.

“Hm, let’s see,” Arthur starts, his voice low and breathy, only inches from Eames’ lips. “I just broke down a mental dam that’s been up for nearly five years, releasing nothing but a flood of pure _want_ , and, despite the fact that the already half-hard man who I’ve currently got pressed up against a table returns those feelings, he’s not going to let me do anything about it.”  

Eames huffs a nervous laugh. “Believe me, darling, it’s not that I don’t want to. I just -” he runs his thumb over Arthur’s lower lip. “This is too special for me to risk scaring you off.”

Arthur leans up and steals one short, yet hard and passion-filled kiss. “I understand,” he says quietly. “Now,” he begins with a smirk, stepping away and pulling Eames’ seat out, “let’s sit and enjoy this delicious dinner you’ve made for us.”

“A gentleman _and_ a scholar? Be still my beating heart!” 

As they dine, they make idle conversation about Eames’ life in Tofino, and Eames promises to take him down the island to the main city, Victoria, where they have the ‘absolute most delicious’ fish and chips Arthur will ever have. Eames loads the dishes into the dishwasher after dinner.

“I usually take Barkley for an after dinner walk. Don’t feel obligated to come, but you’re more than welcome to join,” he says.

Arthur finishes rinsing off his plate and hands it to Eames. “No,” he interjects quickly, “I mean, what I wanted to say was that, um, yes. I’d like that very much.” He looks down and finds himself blushing like a schoolgirl who’d just been asked out by her crush.

Eames is suddenly all around him, arms squeezing him and spinning him around, eyes bright. “You’re such a treasure. Get your jacket on and I’ll get Barkley ready.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone for reading!
> 
> I'd also like to thank saltandshore for being such a brilliant writing partner. Couldn't have done this without her. - IvoryAthena


	7. Chapter 7

When they return from what was quite a soggy walk, Eames starts up a fire in the small fireplace in his living room. Barkley happily nominates himself for front row fireplace seats. "Would you like a cuppa, love?" Eames calls from the kitchen as Arthur peels off his wet layers.

“Yeah, tea’d be great,” Arthur says before adding, “Cream and two sugars, please.” He curls up in the corner of the couch as he watches Eames through the french doors. “Uh, Eames?” he calls, “you wouldn’t happen to have some spare pyjamas, would you?”

With the fire crackling merrily, Eames brings two cups of hot tea and sets them down on the coffee table. “I do, although they’ll hang off of you." He walks to the bedroom and brings back a pair of worn, warm sweatpants and a long sleeved shirt. "These should do the trick!" Arthur stands to catch the clothes as Eames tosses them in his direction.

Eames shuffles around the living room, straightening this and that. "I'll leave this up to you," he starts, words coming out quite quickly, "I'm perfectly content to sleep on the couch tonight if you'd rather not share a bed, I would completely understand. Also, what would you like for breakfast? Barkley and I go for a run in the morning, but I'd be happy to pick up some groceries on our way back. Also, what was the job Cobb wanted me for?"

Arthur sets the makeshift pyjamas down on the couch behind him. “Slow down, that’s a lot of things all in one breath,” he says, taking a step towards Eames. “And do you really think I’d object to sleeping with you at this point?” he raises an eyebrow.

Eames actually blushes, pink creeping up his neck to his ears. "Well, I hope not, but one never knows."

God, the man was adorable. Arthur felt a pang of shame and guilt for having torn him apart all these years. How could he have been missing out on such a wonderful person? He closes the last amount of space between them so that their faces are just an inch apart. "So, does that mean you're no longer objecting?"

Eames' hands instinctively move to Arthur's hips, brushing his nose against Arthurs. "I don't know how much longer my questionable resolve will last. I haven't even taken you on a proper date, yet."

Arthur lets out an irritated moan, relaxing his forehead down to Eames’. “You’re just not going to bend on this, are you?” 

Eames laughs and pulls Arthur into a warm embrace. “I’m trying my best not to. You make it difficult when you’re so fucking insatiable.” 

Eames holds Arthur to him, slowly moving them around in a circle, dancing. The fire crackles and Arthur can hear the sound of the ever crashing waves outside. Eames presses a kiss to his temple. "Just about ready for bed, darling?"

“Not if you’re not going to come with me,” Arthur mumbles, his voice barely audible. 

Before he can do anything about it, Eames grabs a hold of his hand and spins Arthur, nearly tripping him over Barkley in the process.

"I'll warn you right now..." he lowers his voice to a gravelly rumble, "I'm a cuddle fiend."

“I’m sure you can also be fiendish in other aspects of the bedroom as well,” Arthur retorts, quirking his head smugly.

“Arthur, you’re really terrible, you know that?”

Arthur shrugs as Eames closes the grate to the fireplace, and takes his hand and leads him to the bedroom. "What side of the bed do you prefer, kitten?" Eames walks ahead of Arthur down the hall. "Or perhaps you'd just rather sleep on top of me," he says, slyly with a wink.

Arthur finds himself momentarily speechless, but quickly regains his ability to be the master of sass. “And you say that I’m terrible. Fucking tease.”

Eames warm laugh comes from the bedroom, where he’s stripped off his shirt and is unbuttoning his jeans.

Everything around Arthur freezes. He halts in the doorway and just stares. He’d never seen Eames this... naked before. He stares at the sheer mass of muscles on his back, teased with beautifully drawn tattoos that wrapped around his shoulders. Arthur had been certain that he was into women; he’d even thought about maybe trying something with Ariadne, once. But the sight before him was too perfect to deny. 

It then occurs to him that Eames is taking his pants off.  
  
“See something you like, love?” he says, turning to look at Arthur. 

Arthur crosses the room in what seems like milliseconds and slams into Eames, crashing their mouths together, hands knotting in his hair.

Eames lifts Arthur and backs him up against the wall, holding him infinitely close. They only break when air becomes a necessity, Eames pressing his forehead to Arthur’s, breathing each other’s air. Eames closes his eyes and groans quietly. “Fuck,” he breathes.

Arthur lets out a soft moan as Eames grinds his hips against him, feeling himself becoming almost unbearably hard in his trousers. “Christ, Eames,” he says, only able to manage a whisper.

Eames’ pupils are blown wide, lips red from kissing. “Arthur, god,” he gasps, lifting Arthur against him, hands on his ass, shamelessly grinding against him. “Fuck - Arthur, I -”

“Mm,” Arthur grumbles, the sound muffled by Eames’ mouth. “I know.” He runs his hands down the Eames’ back, nails dragging along in bright red lines. Hooking his hands into the top of already loosened trousers, Arthur pushes them down, desperate for more. More Eames. 

Eames gasps, cursing and lifting Arthur again and crashing them both to the bed. “Jesus, you’re beautiful,” he groans. Eames starts working furiously on Arthur’s shirt, fumbling slightly on the last button. He leans forward and begins a trail of soft, teasing kisses down Arthur’s chest, when - 

There’s a knock at the door. 

Eames and Arthur freeze, staring at one another. The air is suddenly silent, save for the sound of their heavy breathing. “Don’t you fucking _dare_. ” Arthur says. Eames goes to respond, but stops when they hear a muffled shout from outside the house. 

“E? Are you in there? I need to talk to you!”

Eames groans and drops his head to Arthur’s shoulder. He kisses Arthur quickly and pulls up his jeans, fastening them and walking to the door. He takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself before opening the door, where Barkley is howling loudly. “Hush, Barkley.” He opens the door.

Jasper is standing outside, hands in his pockets. He gives Eames a quick once over and his expression hardens. “You slept with him, didn’t you?”

Eames steps outside, still shirtless. “It’s not really any of your business, but no. I didn’t.”

“Oh, well then I suppose your flushed face, tussled hair, lack of clothing, and half-boner are from something else then, hm?”

Eames scrubs a hand over his face. “Fuck. Why does it matter?”

Jasper’s hard expression falls into something more sad. “Because I saw what he did to you! Christ, Eames, don’t you get it? He’s going to hurt you again, you have to know that.” 

Eames’ shoulders straighten. “I don’t know that. It’s a risk I have to take, Jasper. Wouldn’t you risk getting burned just to have a few minutes in the sun? I just -” he swallows. “I would. I will.”

Jasper looks up at him though long, blonde eyelashes. “You and your fucking metaphors.” He cracks a light smile.

Eames smiles a bit, too. “I’m a poet at heart, you know. I just - haven’t you ever had that person?”

Jasper gives that a half-hearted chuckle. “Ha, yeah. I think I maybe did, once. Didn’t have the stones to take the risk, though.” 

“Yeah. Listen, Arthur really is great. He’s a bloody nightmare a the worst of times, but he’s just - he’s amazing. Jas, I mean it.”

Jasper pauses, the sadness creeping its way back onto his face. “Does he love you?”

He doesn’t ask if Eames loves Arthur, because Jasper already knows the answer to that. He, instead, goes for the more painful route.

Eames just stares for a moment, looking out at the waves. “I - I don’t know.” He looks down at his feet, absently kicking a rock. “I don’t want to think about that.”

“Well, maybe you ought to.” Jasper says. “But listen, I, er, I’ve got to go. Promise you’ll give me a call, alright?”

Eames nods solemnly, and Jasper pulls him into tight goodbye hug, his slender frame doing nothing to shield his friend’s bare torso from the wind.  
  
“Take care of yourself, E. Don’t wreck your heart. It’s too good to be destroyed.”

Eames gives him a smile. “You’re an awesome mate, Jas. I’ll call you tomorrow, alright?”

Jasper nods and walks away, leaving Eames alone to his thoughts. _Did_ Arthur love him? If not now, would he ever? _Could_ he ever? Eames slips his hands into his pockets, and feels his cigarette case. Thank god. Something to distract his brain. He pulls out one of his precious Marlboros and lights up, trying not to think about Jasper’s question as he stares out at the ocean.

He doesn’t smoke often. As he exhales, he can feel more than hear Arthur come out onto the porch.

“Was that Jasper?” Arthur asks, tone forcefully neutral.

“Yeah. Just came by to make sure I’m alright.” Eames says, taking another drag of his cigarette.

“I didn’t know you still smoked,” Arthur comments, trying not to dwell upon the ever-so-inconvenient visit from the sandy-blonde.

“There’s plenty you don’t know about me, love.”

Arthur thinks about this. He didn’t know Eames had a dog, or liked to live by the water, or, for that matter, that he’d been in love with Arthur for five straight years. “I guess, yeah. Are you alright?” he asks.

Eames puts out his cigarette. “This isn’t just a fling for you, is it?”

Arthur pauses. “What do you mean?”

Eames’ expression drops instantly. He pulls out another cigarette. “That’s not exactly the response I was looking for.” He looks up from his ‘cancer stick’, as Ariadne called them. “What does this,” he gestures between them, “mean to you?”

“Do you want me to be completely honest?”

“Please do.” Eames tenses, bracing himself for the worst possible answer. Arthur takes a deep breath to respond, but Eames quickly leaves a light kiss on his mouth before he can get his words out. “But just, please,” he looks deeply at Arthur, eyes begging, “don’t let Jasper be right.”

Arthur sighs, taking Eames’ face in his hands. HIs eyes look everywhere, searching for an answer. All he can see is the worried, preparing-for-heartbreak expression on Eames’ face. “Okay,” Arthur says. “Truth is, I don’t know.”

Eames feels like his lungs are constricting. “Well then,” he says, stepping out of Arthur’s hands. “Maybe it’s best this goes no further until you figure that out, hm?” He takes one long, final drag from his cigarette and flicks it off the porch as he walks back inside.

“Eames!” Arthur calls after him.

Eames turns, bizarrely calm. “I’m not trying to be too emotional here or anything, but I’m not doing this and then having you fucking off to god knows where. I’m not coming back to this house after having shared it with you to tell Jasper he was right and he can start picking up all the little Eames pieces you’ve left behind. I’m not.” 

Arthur can’t handle the amount of shame and guilt he has piling onto his heart at this point. “Will you -” he starts, his tone soft and gentle. “Will you be alright if I go for a walk? I need to clear my thoughts.”

Eames just rolls his eyes. “I’m not made of glass. Never have been. Never will be.”

It doesn’t pass Arthur’s notice that there was no pet name slipped in there. No _darling_ , no _kitten_ , no anything. Eames could put on a near-perfect facade, but Arthur could see through it. 

“Alright,” he says, “But, I think my question should have been more along the lines of: will you let me back in when I get back?”

Eames looks down to the floor. “Don’t be an idiot, Arthur. You know I’d never do that.”

“Oh,” Arthur says quietly. “I guess then this - should I - er, I mean - fuck.”

“Just go. The door will be unlocked.” Eames walks into the kitchen, and Arthur can hear him shuffling around.

Arthur follows the path down to the beach, leaving the porch, the house, and Eames behind him. He eventually wanders up to a warmly lit coffee house and heads inside. 

It’s getting to be rather dark, so it doesn’t surprise Arthur that the place is dead, save for one or two people who he doesn’t pay attention to, but the baristas look happy. They are playfully nudging one another as they knead dough for the fresh-baked goods that fill the display case. Arthur feels a pang of sadness; it reminds him of he and Eames in the kitchen earlier.

“Hey, uh, do you guys to macchiatos here?” he asks, walking up to the counter.

The barista smiles at him. “Yeah, you bet!” We do caramel, vanilla, or hazelnut!”

Arthur ends up picking hazelnut, and sits down with a newspaper and his macchiato. He’s always liked Canadians, but he’s finding himself falling in love with the west coast of Canada. 

As he reads the paper, the chair across from him pulls out and a tall, lean, curly blonde figure sits across from him.

“Shouldn’t you be at a certain seaside house, taking the remainder of someone’s dignity?” Jasper asks. 

Arthur scowls. Jasper leans back in his chair. “Where’s Eames?” Jasper asks.

“He’s at home,” Arthur responds curtly, not looking up from his paper.

“Ooh, trouble in paradise, is it?” 

Arthur’s fingers crunch the edges of the paper. “What the hell is your problem?”

Jasper leans forward, making eye contact. “My problem is the way you seem to think you can break his heart, come enjoy a couple of high altitude fucks, and then leave him again. I know your type.” He takes a drink of his tea. 

“I’ve spent nearly every day of the last six months with him. He’s a genuinely good man, and that’s a rare fucking thing to find. So here’s what I’m going to say to you: you can either go to him, and love him for the rest of your life and treat him like he deserves, or leave. If you leave, I’m going to him and I _will_ treat him like he deserves and you can bet your soul I won’t ever let him go.” 

He leans back in his chair again, taking another drink of tea. “You’re lucky I’m a good enough man to know how much he loves you and give you this chance. God knows you don’t deserve it.”

Arthur finally gets just how much Jasper cares for Eames, not only by the words he’s saying, but by the look of sheer, unconditional concern and worry in his eyes. He understands that the looks of jealousy he’d been worried about upon first meeting him weren’t just his imagination. And he gets it. He gets how Jasper feels. For then, even contemplating the notion of another person being with Eames made him feel sick to his stomach.

Jasper was in love with Eames. 

And so was Arthur.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd say I'm sorry for this emotional roller coaster, but I'm not. This was way too much fun to write. - IvoryAthena
> 
> I LOVE YOU IVORYATHENA JUST SAYIN' YOU MY JAM4EVER -saltandshore
> 
> Also this:
> 
> only when you have read every chapter and cried yourself to the brink of death, do you have our permission to die
> 
> Love,   
> saltandshore and ivoryathena


	8. Chapter 8

Jasper stands, zipping his jacket. “I’ve said my piece.”

As he goes to leave the cafe, Arthur pipes from his place at the table. “Jasper,” he says, a kinder tone than he’d ever used with the man. “Thank you.”

Jasper turns, giving him a sad kind of smile. “Don’t take it for granted, alright?”

Arthur gives him a solitary nod, folding up his paper. The bell at the door rings, and Jasper is gone. 

As Arthur walks out of the coffee shop, he braces his collar up against the cold ocean wind and starts the walk back.

His brain is spinning. What is he going to say to Eames? Would Eames even let him come back to the house? Questions upon questions create a flood in Arthur’s skull and he finds himself to be without resolution as he walks up the steps of the porch.

Barkley is peeking out the window and wags his tail happily at the sight of Arthur. When he walks in the house, he finds Eames, asleep on the couch in front of the fire, arms crossed over his still bare chest. He looks so at peace, brow unfurrowed, jaw relaxed, eyes soft. Arthur doesn’t have the heart to wake him. He instead takes the seat across from him, in Eames’ recliner. 

He kicks his shoes off and tucks his legs up, just watching Eames sleep quietly. Arthur wonders what he’s dreaming about. There’s nothing but the quiet crackle of the fire in the background and Barkley snuffles his face into Arthur’s lap, ears perking as he looks up at him. A sudden 8-bit rendition of Fur Elise comes bursting from Arthur’s pocket, and he scrambles to get his phone out before it wakes Eames. 

Text: Cobb

_What happened? You missed your flight back. Do you have Eames? Get back to me ASAP._

Unfortunately, Arthur didn’t seem to have quieted the ringtone quickly enough to avoid waking the shirtless man on the couch.

Eames opens his eyes blearily, sitting up and reaching for his left hip instinctually. “Arthur,” he says. “You came back?” He sits up for a moment, seeming to be lost in thought. After a brief silence, he speaks again. “Jasper rang. Told me he thinks you’ve come to your senses.”

Arthur laughs softly, looking down as he runs his fingers through his hair. “Yeah, I, er, ran into him on my walk.”

Eames looks up at him, eyes intense. “What did he say to you?”

Arthur hesitates. Was he supposed to tell Eames that Jasper was in love with him? He couldn’t. Not after what Jasper had done for him. “He just brought me to my senses,” Arthur says, getting off the chair so he’s kneeling in front of Eames. “And he said that he’d royally kick my ass if I fucked you over.” It wasn’t a total lie. Just a different version of the truth.

Eames smiles softly, closing his eyes and letting himself relish in Arthur’s closeness. “He’s a good man.”

Arthur hums, letting Eames take his time.

“I’m glad you came back. Have you come to some sort of decision?” He looks into Arthur’s clear, brown eyes.

Arthur stands up, grabbing Eames’ hands. He pulls him up from the couch and places his hands on the sides of Eames’ neck, thumbs running comforting circles below his ears. “Eames, I -”

He pauses, and the world stands still. He looks deep into Eames’ eyes, and for the first time, both men are seeing complete certainty in the other.

“I love you.”

Eames’ surprised inhale is followed by a shout of joy and happy laughter. “Oh god,” he breathes. “I’ve only wanted to hear that for -” he just laughs. “You... I adore,” he says, clutching his face and planting a sound kiss on his lips. 

Arthur smiles into the kiss and wraps his arms around Eames’ back, trying to pull him even closer. “I love you,” he repeats, mumbling against Eames’ mouth.

He can feel Eames smile pressed against his lips, his forehead, his eyes, his neck. “I love you. Forever, always, I’ve loved you,” he whispers.

The two stand still by the fireplace, each clutching the other as tightly as possible, not caring about anything else in the world. And for that moment, everything is perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short chapter, but as AO3 so often reminds me: "Brevity is the soul of wit." No need to worry, a long chapter will be on its way soon! -IvoryAthena


	9. Chapter 9

Arthur wakes, begrudgingly, to an empty bed and a loudly ringing cell phone on the bedside table. "Ngggh," he groans as he shoves Eames’ pillow over his face. He blindly gropes for the still ringing telephone, a herculean effort for - he glances at the clock, 7:07AM - in the morning. "What?" he snaps as he answers the cell.

“You mind telling me why you missed your plane, Arthur?” an angry Cobb says through the speaker. “Furthermore, do you mind telling me why the _fuck_ you haven’t answered any of my - let’s see - 26 text messages?!”

Arthur groans again. "I've been busy," he grouses, rolling to sit up on the extremely comfortable bed.

“Busy? You’ve been BUSY?!” Cobb is practically screaming at this point. Arthur distances the phone from his ear; it’s far too early for such high volumes. “You get your ass back to Paris before midnight, or so help me, I will skiiin you.” Cobb calms his tone a bit. “And you’d better have my bloody forger with you.”

Arthur just rolls his eyes, "See you soon." He says, and hangs up. He vaguely remembers Eames carrying him to the bedroom the night before, though both of them had collapsed from sheer exhaustion the instant they hit the mattress. He flops back down on the bed for a few seconds before deciding he needs coffee if he wants to live. He stands, stretching, and pads out of the bedroom. The whole house is flooded in soft, dewy morning light.

As he wanders about the house, he finds himself constantly yanking up the sweatpants that Eames had lent him. Bloody muscular bastard.

Arthur sees a door tucked into a small section of the hall, barely noticeable if you weren't being observant.

Arthur allows his curiosity to get the better of him, just this one time. He crouches, yanking up the sweatpants again, and wiggles the little door open. Inside is a small crawl space which looks like it's been packed with knick-knacks and other little things Eames collected over the years. Arthur is shuffling absently through a shoebox of old cards when a glint catches his eye. There's a small, glass picture frame poking haphazardly out of a box. He doesn't know what he expects, but when he sees it, the breath catches in his chest.

[Photo](http://cdnimg.visualizeus.com/thumbs/9d/79/joseph,gordon,levitt,tom,hardy-9d792fd697093977c3e699460536b6b3_h.jpg)

It was a candid shot, from one of the first times the two had met. God, Arthur looked like he was about twelve years old. And he was staring directly at Eames. Eames, this stunning man with his hair combed nicely and wearing one of his blasted plaid suits that, for once, seemed at least mildly tailored.

It was beautiful.

And Eames had kept it. It was from years ago, and here it was, framed, and still with him despite the countless times he had moved around the globe. Arthur is still sitting cross-legged on the floor in oversized sweat pants staring at the picture when Barkley comes barrelling into him and Eames comes around the corner, sweaty, flushed, and gorgeous, just back from their run.

"Find something interesting, darling?" He laughs, leaning against the wall as he removes his shoes.

Arthur stands up quickly, setting the picture back down, and takes a moment to just look at the man before him. Staring at his heaving and shirtless chest, Arthur makes a note to himself to learn every single one of Eames’ tattoos, as well as the stories behind them.

He walks over to press himself against Eames’ his sticky body, and kisses him, soft and sweet. “You really are wonderful,” he says. “I can’t believe you kept that.”

Eames wraps his arms around Arthur, pulling him close and resting his cheek on his temple. "Of course I did. It's my favourite picture." He breathes out a lungful of air. “How did you sleep, darling?”

“Very well, thank you,” Arthur answers, a smirk growing on his face. “Though I do have to admit that I was more than mildly disappointed when I woke up alone.”

Eames hums, letting his hands rove lower on Arthurs hips. "These are practically falling off of you, love." He says, bumping Arthur's nose with his.

“Yeah, they’ve been quite the inconvenience all morning,” Arthur teases, crossing his wrists behind Eames’ neck. He stands on his tiptoes so he’s slightly taller than Eames. “Though, I was rather hoping that they wouldn’t be a necessity for much longer.”

Eames smiles and suddenly, Arthur's world is upended as Eames picks him up and tosses him fireman style over his shoulder. "Be careful what you wish for, darling!" He laughs, walking to the bedroom and tossing Arthur ungracefully onto the bed.

Eames wastes no time pulling his pants off of Arthur, who shuffles quickly to a position where he won’t fall off the mattress. Eames stands at the foot of his bed and pauses momentarily to fully appreciate the sight before him. Arthur. Propped up by his elbows on Eames’ bed. Clad in nothing but a black pair of boxer-briefs.

Arthur lets out a heavy breath and raises an eyebrow.

Eames is vibrating with energy and releases what almost sounds like a growl before he's on Arthur, mouths locked. Arthur is glad he was wearing something other than his suits, because he's fairly sure Eames legitimately ripped his underwear off of him. "I've been thinking about this for ages," Eames says, trailing kisses down Arthur's chest and stomach.

Arthur practically whimpers. “Eames, I -” He doesn’t get much farther before Eames’ lips are on the insides of his thighs, teasing their way around him. Eames shifts, his tongue tracing down Arthur’s sex lines, releasing a feral groan from the point man’s throat.

Eames hums, slipping onto his knees at the side of the bed, pulling Arthur's hips with him. Arthur hardly has time to grasp at Eames shoulders before his mouth is on him, and oh god, Arthur had always thought Eames had a nice mouth but his mind has currently imploded from the sensation of Eames lips and tongue on his cock.

“Oh god, Eames, don’t - don’t stop...” Arthur can barely make any sense of what he is doing, for two reasons: one, he’d been completely sexless for nearly a year at this point, and two, Eames just - Arthur groans as Eames licks one, slow line up the underside of his prick - Eames is maddeningly good at what he is doing.

Eames smiles up from him from his place between Arthur's thighs. He hums around Arthur's cock, clearly enjoying himself. He runs his hands up Arthur's sides, allowing Arthur's hand to slip into his mussed hair. Just as Eames is doing something phenomenally fantastic with his tongue, Arthur's phone rings.

Arthur groans. “Not. Fucking. Nggh -” Eames twists his mouth around Arthur, causing Arthur’s eyes to almost roll back in their sockets. “ -Now.” He tilts his head back into the mattress, trying to focus on anything but his ringing phone.

Eames removes himself from Arthur’s cock with a last lick to the tip, and crawls back up onto the bed, pressing Arthur beneath him in a salty kiss. The 8-bit music persists. Eames nibbles gently at Arthur’s earlobe before breathing, “Aren’t you going to get that, darling?”

Arthur growls, "Fuck off, they can leave a message." He goes to kiss Eames again, but instead Eames reaches for the cell phone and flips it open, pressing it to Arthur's ear. He grins.

"What?" Arthur snaps into the phone. Eames grinds his hips into Arthur’s, making his breath catch, and kisses his neck and below his ear.

“Jeez, no need to be so rude about it,” Ariadne’s voice comes over the speaker. “Where are you?”

“I -” Arthur starts, but his voice cuts off when Eames runs his tongue in one long, slow line up his neck. “Mmph.”

“Arthur? Are you okay?”

Arthur can feel Eames shake trying to contain his laughter as he makes his way back down to Arthur's prick, dropping wet kisses on his stomach.

"I'm fine," he bites out as Eames takes him back deep in his throat yet managing to smile at the same time.

“Okay, well, get back here soon. Cobb looks like he’s going to kill someone. Namely, you.” Yeah, Arthur knew the feeling. “Oh, and did you find -” Ariadne is cut off by a guttural cry that escapes Arthur’s throat as Eames works Arthur’s shaft with his hand while twirling his tongue around the tip. “ -Eames?” she finishes her sentence quietly. “Arthur, are you...”

"Hello, petal!" says the now British accented voice on the other end of the phone, rough from its previous activities. "Arthur has indeed found me. We will be en route back to Paris tonight and we will see you tomorrow - as it is, Arthur is otherwise occupied at the moment or I'm sure he would've told you himself."

“Oh,” says Ariadne. “OH. Well um, I’ll just - let you be off then. Oh god, why those words. Um, yeah. Okay, bye.” a dialtone comes through the speaker and Eames shuts the phone.

"Where was I?" He muses, looking down at a very scowly, very turned on Arthur.

He runs his fingers softly and slowly over Arthur’s now painfully hard length. Arthur huffs out a frustrated, yet thoroughly aroused breath. “I’m actually going to kill you.”

"Mm, that would be terribly ambitious of you, kitten." He says as he kisses Arthur's nose, which wrinkles in response. “Besides,” he adds, “I believe you were the one who said ‘don’t stop’.”

And with that, Eames sinks back down to Arthur's cock, taking him in to the hilt in one swift, smooth movement. Arthur tries valiantly to bite back a cry, fingers tangling in Eames hair. Eames hums around Arthur's prick, pulling him closer with his hands on Arthur's ass as he relentlessly works Arthur closer to orgasm.

“Eames, I’m - I -” Arthur tries to say before he spends himself into Eames’ mouth. Every single muscle in his body tenses and Arthur truly believes that he has never felt more blissful than in this moment. His skin is glistening with sweat as he falls back onto the bed.

Eames gently pulls off of Arthur, swallowing shamelessly. He crawls back up onto the bed and lays next to Arthur, pulling him close.

“Christ,” Arthur says, his voice breathy and exhausted. “You are,” he looks up at Eames, “maddening. Incredible. Brilliant.” He leaves a trail of short kisses between each word, moving along Eames’ jaw, pausing just before his mouth. “And I love you.” With that, he pulls their mouths together for a sweet kiss, free of any and all urgency.

Eames chuckles against his mouth. "You're adorable, darling. Can I make you breakfast now?" he says.

“Not quite,” says Arthur, smirking. “You still seem to have a small issue that needs to be dealt with.”

Eames pulls back, feigning being offended. “Now, I think it’s a little rude to refer to it as a _small_ issue, don’t you, Arthur, dear?”

Arthur grins, cheeks dimpling. Eames rolls over melodramatically. "I knew it! I just knew it - you'll leave me for a bigger man!" He cries, nearly throwing himself off the bed in his over-acted grief.

“You’re an idiot,” Arthur smiles, crawling on top of him and leaving a light kiss before getting off the bed.

As he picks up his clothes off the floor, Arthur laughs to himself. He stands up and dangles from his pointer finger a pair of what used to be black briefs, but are now simply scrap fabric. He raises an eyebrow at Eames.

"They were in the way. All things that get in the way of me getting to you will be destroyed." Eames says, matter-of-factly. In that moment, Arthur knows he isn't just talking about the black, shredded fabric.

Arthur nods. “Now, how about that breakfast, hey?”

Eames happily stands and heads out into the hallway. His hand ruffles Barkley's ears as he walks into the kitchen. "I make a fantastic omelette,” he calls back to the bedroom. “Interested?"

Arthur follows suit out of the bedroom, attempting not to trip over the cuffs of Eames’ excessively large sweatpants. He walks up to Eames, pressing their bare chests together as he drops a brief kiss on his bright red lips. “Would I be here if I wasn’t?” And this time, they both know Arthur isn’t talking about the eggs.

Eames laughs, and shakes his head softly. "You're a wonder, darling."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I believe the term you're looking for is 'Ariadne'd'! - IvoryAthena


	10. Chapter 10

__

_Eames presses Arthur against the counter, kissing every part of exposed skin he can get to and doing anything he can to make Arthur completely lose control._

_A knock on the door._

_“Hnggg, seriously? Is there any time when we won’t be interrupted?” Arthur sighs._

_“It’s Jasper. He’s just coming to pick up Barkley, remember?”_

_Eames pulls away and answers the door._

_Arthur waits in the kitchen, listening the two other men talking at the door._

_He jumps off the counter and walks up behind Eames. He wraps his hands around his hips and drops kisses down his neck, not once breaking eye contact with Jasper. “Eames," he growls, "come back to bed.”_

_Eames tenses._

_Jasper’s hand squeezes more tightly around Barkley’s leash and his jaw clenches._

_“I should go.”_

\--

Eames and Arthur sit in silence on the plane.

At least Cobb thought Eames should get to ride in comfort. He booked them a private section of the plane for the journey back to Paris. Then again, it was probably for the best.

Eames’ face is hard as he stares out the window. Arthur watches him.

“Eames, please, just -”

“Save it, Arthur,” he says quietly and coldly.

Arthur grinds his teeth together. He know he has no right to be mad, but that doesn’t change the fact that he is.

It’s not his fault that Eames chose to be with him.

But it is Arthur’s fault that he can’t control his ruddy jealous temper.

His rational mind knew that he had nothing to be jealous of with Jasper, but whenever Eames was involved, Arthur functioned strictly in the irrational region of his thoughts. He had to show Jasper that Eames was his, and his only. He just couldn’t help thinking that if the two kept talking, then Jasper would tell Eames how he feels. And Eames would come to a realization that he should be with Jasper, the man who had always been good to him. Jasper, the man who would never hurt him. Jasper, the man who deserved Eames more than Arthur ever would.

Arthur shouldn’t have been such a dick.

He knows he should apologize.

“Eames, look, I -”

“So, tell me about this job then,” Eames says, completely avoiding the topic Arthur was trying to address, not to mention eye contact with him.

Arthur sighs. At least he’s talking. “Truth be told, we don’t know a lot.” he says. “The mark is nearly impossible to find. He’s got so many protections covering him, we don’t even know what his face looks like—though, he could have changed it by now. The guy’s powerful. Really powerful.”

Eames’ eyebrows raise slightly and he toys absent-mindedly with the cheap fabric of the curtain. “Really? He’s managed to hide from you? I don’t like going in blind. What are we after?”

“Supposedly, the man has come up with a method that would allow any person to wipe their entire history of the face of this earth, with just one press of a button. It would make it as though they never existed.”

“A completely clean slate,” Eames says.

“Exactly.”

“My, now that would be enticing, wouldn’t it. So it’s an extraction?”

Arthur nods. “But like I said. The mark can wipe his entire being from the face of the earth. So, it’s not going to be easy to find him, let alone extract his methods from his mind. He could be anyone, anywhere.”

Eames’ curiosity about the job gets the best of him and he looks at Arthur. “Do we even have a starting point, anything? Does Cobb have any sort of reliable plan?”

“When are Cobb’s plans ever reliable, Eames?” Arthur counters. “All we know about him is that he sometimes goes by the alias Tom. No surname.”

“Well, well, then,” Eames sighs, looking back out the window. “We do have our work cut out for us, indeed.”

“Yeah we do,” says Arthur. He pauses for a moment, nibbling on his lower lip. “So can we ta-”

“No.”

Neither of them say anything else for the rest of the plane ride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst is fun. :) - IvoryAthena


	11. Chapter 11

Arthur drags his posh, small, Swiss air suitcase behind him through the airport, while Eames has his rather large and ripped vintage leather - something - flung carelessly over his right shoulder. Arthur could probably best describe Eames’ luggage as a sack. The air is notably uncomfortable as they walk without a word.

Eames shifts his bag, shoving a hand into his pocket as he continues through the expansive Charles de Gaulle airport. Arthur’s legs are easily as long as Eames’, if not a little longer, so he keeps up with his rather brisk pace.

Arthur is growing unbearably frustrated with the tension in between them, which, realistically, is just making the both of them even more tense. He wants to apologize to Eames, he really does. It’s just hard. Especially when Eames doesn’t know the truth about why Arthur is so protective of him. The truth about Jasper.

Eames slows his steps and walks shoulder to shoulder with Arthur. “Why are you having a wobbly about all of this?”

“A _wobbly_ about what?” Arthur snaps out, his tone unintentionally harsh. He bites his tongue and looks apologetically at Eames.

Eames stops, grabbing his elbow gently. “Us, Arthur.”

_Maybe because I’m not the only one who’s in love with you and that makes me just slightly more than a little fucking nervous._

“It’s just new, Eames,” says Arthur, keeping the words he was actually thinking on hold. “Everything is so fresh and open and frankly, a bit insane. It’s hard to control... _this_.” As Arthur knew was always important in a good lie, there was truth to that statement.

Eames sighs. “I’m sorry. It all happened fast. It truly did. But I do want you to know that even though it happened fast, I meant it all. And maybe that’s a lot for you to take in, but I can’t - won’t - lie about that. I mean it all.”

Arthur gently places his hand on Eames’ cheek, searching his eyes. “I know, Eames. I know. It just makes things a little hard when you don’t kn-”

A sharp whistle cuts off the end of Arthur’s sentence.

Eames looks up, startled, releasing Arthur’s elbow and waving at the whistlers in question. “Just trust me, darling,” he whispers, before walking toward Cobb and Ariadne with a smile.

Arthur follows slightly behind Eames, remaining quiet. He’s trusts the man with his life, of course, but he wasn’t so sure about trusting him to keep his mouth shut about the two of them. Then again, it’s not like they didn’t know already.

“Hello, Miss Ariadne,” Eames laughs as she crushes him in a hug. “How are you, petal?”

“Eames!” she giggles. “Oh god, it’s so good to actually see you! I’m so sorry about the -” she stops herself and clears her throat. Arthur’s eyes widen when he realizes what she was referring to.

Eames laughs, “Forget about it, petal. Only a minor setback.” He winks at Arthur.

Clenching his jaw, Arthur shoots a look of death at Eames, who just smirks right back at him. “Lighten up, darling.”

“We should really be getting back to the hotel,” Cobb interjects sternly. “Arthur, on the way, maybe you can tell me what the fuck was so important that you had to miss your flight, hm?”

“I could tell you,” Eames mumbles quietly.

“Eames,” Arthur snaps. “Let’s go, come on,” he says as he keeps up a brisk pace toward the doors of the airport.

“Barkley sends his love, by the way,” Arthur hears Eames say to Ariadne who coos and asks how he’s been.

“He’s staying with a good mate of mine,” Eames says, “I can’t imagine lugging that hairy beast with me everywhere, as much as I miss the knob.”

For some reason, Arthur can’t help but think the knob Eames was referring to wasn’t Barkley. He shakes his head subtly, trying to clear his thoughts.

“Oh, who’s this friend of yours?” asks Ariadne, “I’d love to hear about the new people you met on the coast.”

Arthur’s grip on his suitcase gets impossibly tight at that question. He is not in any mood to hear Eames fawning over how fantastic Jasper is.

As Eames and Ariadne continue to talk about Jasper and Eames’ life on the coast, Arthur tries to focus on the job ahead of them. But Eames drawl continues to break into his thoughts.

“You’d love it, Ari, it’s beautiful there. Damp and foggy, but green all year ‘round and never-ending ocean. I’m usually one for heat, but I totally fell in love.”

Those words freeze Arthur where he stands. That’s it. Of course it was. Arthur had been too late. He should have known. Every single muscle in his body tenses and he has to fight the urge to scream. The two continue to walk ahead, not noticing that Arthur was no longer with them.

Ariadne finally turns. “You coming, Arthur?” she calls back to him. Eames stops and looks back. “What’s the hold up, darling?”

The air stands still for a moment. Despite the noise, the busyness, and the rush of the airport, it’s silent in their world. Arthur doesn’t budge.

All at once, Eames realizes what’s happening. It hits him like a ton of bricks and he doesn’t understand how he hadn’t realized it earlier. Arthur is _insecure_. Arthur, who could kill a man with his little finger. Arthur, who is calm under fire, never reveals emotion, constantly indifferent. Eames feels ridiculously stupid. “Give us a moment, would you, petal?” Eames says as he walks back toward the motionless Arthur.

When Eames is close enough, Arthur speaks quietly and carefully, like a man wants to keep his pride, despite how torn he is. “I should have known,” he says. “I should have known that I was too late, that you’d have moved on. Why would you wait for me? It’s not like I gave you any remote suggestion on how I really felt. You couldn’t have known that I’d try and come back. I didn’t even know that. It makes sense that you fell for him. He never hurt you. He never left you. He never made you feel like I did. That’s that, end of story. I’m sorry I wasted your time.”

Eames grabs Arthur by the shoulders, gripping him hard. “Stop it. You stop it right now, Arthur, now you listen to me. _Look at me_.” Eames stares straight into his eyes, not breaking contact. “I wouldn’t have let you come back if I didn’t want you to. I wouldn’t have let you find me if I didn’t want to be found. I know you're terrified and you don't want me to know it, but it's time for you to let go. Let me in, Arthur." He smiles slightly, "I promise you aren't as bad as you think you are, darling. I’ve all but forgotten it - now you need to as well.”

Arthur keeps his stone-faced, practiced facade. “You said you fell in love when you were there,” he says coldly, his eyes still conveying to Eames that he doesn’t trust his words.

Eames just looks at him incredulously. “Are you serious? With the _place_ , love.” He just smiles and shakes his head. “If you think I’m ever going to be in love with someone other than you, you’re going to be disappointed. Where is my Arthur? The confident, no-funny-business, stick-in-the-mud, amazing and mind-blowing, hard to keep up with Arthur? Tell him I miss him making fun of me all the time.”

Eames doesn’t understand. He can’t, not when he doesn’t know the whole situation. Arthur fights back a stuttered breath that is threatening to burst forth and takes a long, deep breath instead. “He’s scared, Eames,” he says, his words hitching just the slightest bit. “He’s scared of breaking you again. Of losing you to someone else. Scared that, if he says the wrong thing, it’ll send you packing and off into Jasper’s open, waiting arms.” Arthur stops, inhaling sharply when he realizes the last thing he said. He hopes and hopes to himself that Eames didn’t pick up on it.

Eames exhales heavily. “I know how Jasper feels, Arthur. How could I not? But I’ve been broken before you, by you, and I’ll probably be broken again,” He leans closer, looking into Arthur’s eyes, “But I’m not made of glass, darling. Let go of this guilt. Please.”

Arthur looks up into Eames’ eyes and sees nothing but the sheer compassion, warmth, and love in them. He still couldn’t believe that he’d ever done anything to hurt the man, and knows he never could do it again. “Okay,” he says, smiling softly.

Arthur hopes he’s the only one who knows that he is lying.

Eames smiles. “All I want is for you to be happy.”

Arthur stands up on his toes to give Eames a soft kiss on the forehead, damned who sees. He wants to let himself be happy for Eames. He just doesn’t know if he can.

Dom coughs, surprising them both. “So that’s why you missed your flight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully this left you feeling a little better than the last chapter. We love your feedback! 
> 
> Thank you so much to omletlove and rainingklisses for sticking with us through the whole thing, despite the rollercoaster we've done our best to send your emotions on. You lovely people brighten my days. :) - IvoryAthena

**Author's Note:**

> We hope you liked it - we're chuffed!


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